Precarious Situation
by Yoshiko Furu
Summary: Do you ever feel life has become a hamster cage, two times too small? Like there are these hands pushing you back when you try to take a step forward? Maybe it’s the feeling of a provoked attack? When all your feelings get slammed into your stomach, an
1. Chapter 1

Precarious Situation-

Do you ever feel life has become a hamster cage, two times too small? Like there are these hands pushing you back when you try to take a step forward? Maybe it's the feeling of a provoked attack? When all your feelings get slammed into your stomach, and your gut muscles tighten up so that there's not enough room for them all to explode… when a steal hand raises against your black and blue skin…

Could it be that all your feelings melt away when you smell whisky on the brisk chilly air? And your body experiences the bone clanking shivers when he says, "Tern around so I can see that ass of yours _again_"?

Maybe that's how you feel?

I know I do…hee…

I guess if I were at some rehab center I'd get up in front of a bunch of straw haired, owl eyed druggies and say, "Hello, my name is InuYasha Takashi…" pause to swallow my feelings down and… "I'm a pathologic life ruin-er…" Cause you know, I didn't really do it on purpose but…. Ignorance is no excuse for the crime I've committed… and you know all those kids who get hit by their parents? They disserve it. I know first hand that that _**is**_ the truth. I _**know**_.

A/N: Yo! Writers block on my other FF TTTT I'm so srry! I've been trying to come up with something, please forgive me

Now relevant to this fiction, I know what most of you are thinking. OMG, not another abuse one! I'm srry again, but I never got to actually write an abusive one while the kid was in the home… besides, the last one was Kagome "


	2. The Days

**Special thanks to sound of souls for reading over my poor grammar and misspellings and to anyone who takes the time to read :D**

**Last time: **I guess if I were at some rehab center I'd get up in front of a bunch of straw haired, owl eyed druggies and say, "Hello, my name is InuYasha Takashi…" pause to swallow my feelings down and… "I'm a pathologic life ruin-er…" Cause you know, I didn't really do it on purpose but…. Ignorance is no excuse for the crime I've committed… and you know all those kids who get hit by their parents? They disserve it. I know first hand that that _**is**_ the truth. I _**know**_.

Precarious Situation

Chap 1- The Days

One may ask, how does a pathologic life ruin-er start his or her day off? It's a very controversial topic in Mexico I hear! Does he or she start the day with a hardy bowl of oatmeal to be able to have the energy ruin lives? Or does he or she start by prying to his or her satanic deity to have everything they touch rote at his or her mere presence? …Maybe he just gets up off the cool living room floor and grabs his torn pants. Looks around for his soiled boxers and throws away every shred of clothes that he was wearing yesterday because it was torn off his body. Go upstairs in nothing but his skin and grab something from his prison/ room that hasn't been ripped or stained with red stuff, making sure its weak enough marital that it'll be ready to rip that night. Hoping his dad is still worn out from the _justice_ he gave him?

I don't know about all the rest of the life ruin-ers out there, but mines answer C…

I know what your thinking now, why don't you shower? Aren't you covered in…. well you know…

Truth be told, I only get to shower once a weak. On Thursday, at school, when sport practices are shortest. It's not that I like smelling like a sweaty slut all week, believe me I don't. I know people don't like to smell me either. I have radio serves, and I can see people stare at me, I can even hear them, "fuck, he smells like sweat…" It's just, I don't really have time… mornings are my busy hour.

I have to cook and clean and wash blood off walls and "well you know" stuff off couches and floors, and make the house look like a nice middle class family lived there. And I don't even have a fairy godmother like Cinderella to help me!

Some how I find my way to school before the bell rings most days. I've never won a perfect attendance award or anything, but I do get there pretty early.

But the only reason that I'm there early is because I don't like to be at home. I like to pretend that home isn't part of my life once I enter threw our school's tattered red double doors. This is a completely separate demotion then home. Places were my job is to blend in with the background and find harmony. Were I won't be recognized as a pathological life ruin-er and the only reason I'm ever seen is because my shoulder lengthy greasy white hair or my raccoon eyed hazel eyeballs and maybe the dog ears... maybe. Were …nobody knows I ruined a life…

O

I know! I know! Ease-dropping is not a _good_ thing to do, but neither is beating on me for being me…. Okay, yes it is, but still… that's all I can do at school anyways… besides get out of gym.

As I sit in the shadows of the hallway like a druggy or emo, I listen up… why else would God so graciously have given me these dog ears? Most of its no interesting and most of the stuff I'm picking up are Sops… oh! I hear a good one. I tilt my ears back and forth till I'm getting a good signal…

"He such a bustard! He dumped me for some bitch he met at Kagura's party and all he said was 'we're over, bye' and hung up on me! Can you believe him! And I got so smashed after that! Look what he drove me to!" I hear gasp and a sleeve lifting…

"Oh God! Kikyo not again! You told us you were guna quite… quite doing those things to yourself!" Pitter pattering of tears can be heard and she pulls her sleeve down so she can rub her eyes without her hot tears burning her fresh cuts. She's such… a liar. Those "things to yourself" are fresh from this morning. God blessed me with a keen scene of smell too. Kikyo's always been such a troubled child, she's practically crazy… the rumor I herd on the Prep channeled says she got raped and put up for adoption and after that she's had an easy life, but the whole fact that she got raped messed her up. But the Emo channeled says that her parents kicked her out cause she was trying to seduce her new-so-fucking-hot-assed step dad and she drove him into a corner till he moved out and she said he raped her. And there are a million other versions from every other channel I pick up.

I guess if _she_ went to rehab she'd have to say something along the lines of, "Hello, my name is Kikyo Sluthole and I have an implosive sex-drive." I don't know her last name as you can tell, ha!

But really, I think I would believe the Emo channel much more. There kinda crazy to, but I think they get the more honest end of the stick because there ease-droppers just like me! On top of that, she smells like me half the time she's in school, and I mean the "well you know" smell. I guess this is a place were I could use teenager words and say, "Dat whore sleeps around!" Maybe she doesn't have time to shower like me?

Oh well, her second batch of friends are coming and the first are leaving, lets see what there reply to the situation is!

"Kikyo! We heard what happened at the party! Girl! What happened, tell us!! We'll kick Koga's min-peiny for you if you want!" Comes second batch, first right hand buddy.

"Ah!" she's crying with purpose now, she has the highest pitched yells I never wanted to hear, "Don't say his name! Look at what he drove me too!" she pulls her sleeve up so fast this time she rips the clotting blood off one of the scabs… I'm starting to feel kinda like the emptiness in my stomach wants to come and great the morning air… but I keep listening.

I hear some more gasp, "Bustard! God! His guna pay! I can't believe he drove you to this! We should fucking kill that bustard! Maybe we should all confront him together; we'll totally go with you!" She sniffles a little now and starts to calm the tears down.

"No, I'll do it later on. Just glare at him all day today, okay? For me?" I glance over very subtly and watch as all her friends' tern into extreme bobble heads… I really can't help but roll my eyes. But half way threw that roll my hazel eyes catch the site of something that makes me look away. I look right and left and start to breath heavy quietly. She should really think about stopping the blood on her wrist…

O

Classes are easy. Way easy in fact… I just don't want to do it. My grades may suck, but it's not like my dad cares. He really doesn't care about much these days anymore. My mom used to care; she used to care about everything I did. My grades, how my belly button was doing that day, how many times I showered a week, how many friends I had, if I ate a balanced meal that day, that sort of thing. But one day she stopped.

My dad cares about me though. He cares about were he hits me, he cares about how old I am, he cares about how much money the government gives him each month, he cares about how many times he can fuck me a week before he falls asleep, he cares about my ass. It's his weird way of loving me, I think. Some times I wish he could love me in another way, like lame dad jokes you see on sit-comes, or friendly hugs once in a while but we would both never admit that we loved each other in a non homo way. I bet I would like it much better…

The late bell rings and its time for all good boys and girls to sit in there seats and enjoy our educational math class! Fun! Math is easiest out of all subjects, because there's only one right answer.

Our feel good teacher comes in, Mr. Spats. I have to confess something right away, I don't like him. Everyone else seems to like him though! I feel like an alien here because of that. I don't even understand why I don't like him though! So don't get the wrong impression, he's a good guy. But for some reason he likes to talk to me a lot. That's kinda creepy. And his always saying weird things to me in an up beat voice, like, "Hi!" and "Dude, where's your lunch?" and his most common reminder, "Man, you know if anything is ever bothering you, you can talk to me!" That kind of thing is just plane creepy-ness!

But then again, all the male teachers kinda give me the creeps. Just cause I know what guys can do. Heck, I _am_ a guy…

…So is my dad.

Our teacher stands at the head of the class with his delighted appearing face and opens his mouth to talk, "Okay class! Let's open up our text books to page 374! Were going to learn about Imaginary Numbers today! Now, can anyone guess what an imaginary…"

He keeps talking about Imaginary Numbers, but I zone him out as I start to think about… nothing. I guess you could say this is the part of the day were life becomes real rehab. This part of the day is called meditation with numbers. I know half the stuff this guy is teaching. I look to the front of the class when everyone starts laughing at one of his lame jokes.

I stare at him. I'm still not listening; his string of words go strait threw my head. Kinda like ghost do in scary movies when they pass threw people to show them that there really ghost. That's what this guy's words are like.

The students laugh again…

I think… one day… I might wana be like him. People like him. They like who he is. He looks clean and smells like soap and clone. His dirty blond hair is kept in place and his crisp blue eyes are smiling like big blue moons in children's storybooks. His domineer is inviting and friendly, like he could give everybody a big bear hug and still have the energy to go feed the homeless or something.

I kinda wana be like him… because people like him… people love him… people wont hurt him…

O

At the end of the period, I don't turn my work in. I understood fine what was written in my text book. I could've done _all_ this simple math in my head. I just don't do the work.

Before I leave my class room, I look over at Mr. Spats. He glances up at me and he has this sad smile on his face. I guess I disappointed him, that's a fat pill to swallow.

O

It's time to enter part two of rehab in the real life. I have P.E. now what's more fun then getting beat up in the hallways of our fair school by a bunch of steroid pumped jock, one may ask? P.E.! Duh! This is the place were they can beat the living shit out of you and the P.E. teacher will tell you "Be a good sport now! Shake hands and make up! That's sportsmanship!" F-U-N!! Fun…

This is the part I like to call mental endurance. Of coerce, I get a big ol' glomp of FUN goopped on that. But I don't lead on.

Today I feel that I need to continue meditation with numbers, but no dice. The P.E. teacher says that I've taken enough time for that. I guess I have to join all the rest of the jocks.

Today were going to learn how to kick a football! I guess I didn't want to miss this. This is a character building skill that I will use for the rest of my life.

I wait for the rest of my esteemed classmates to finish dressing out. I like to skip that part of the P.E. ritual. I'm afraid I'd offend people with my sweat and 'you know what' smell… along with a few other things I'm a little shy about…

Coach blows his whistle. I think he used to be in a three ring circuses. He might of trained lions or elephants. He blows that whistle enough! Not to mention he has an obsession with poke-o-doted shirts. I'm not sure if that's a natural thing…

"Warm up ladies! Run around the gym 10 times!!" he yells, and for good measure, he blows the whistle again... just in case we didn't hear it the first time.

I start walking around. You see, my ankle hurts a little today. Not a lot! You think just 'cause it's twice the size it should be and becoming purple it hurts? Nope! Not one bit. But it's not like I tell anybody that I think it might need some ice…

_That_ type of thing is like a secret message that my dad gives me. I'm sure it's his way of saying, "Son, I love you." But who am I too say. But I'm sure it is… if not… what would it be?

I don't tell anyone its there. They would try to get rid of it out of jealousy. I want to keep it and wait till it heals. I'm sure by the time it heals; my dad'll find the words he's been keeping locked up deep in the back of his mind and say he likes me.

Out of no-where someone slaps my back. And not in a friendly, "Hey buddy!!" way either. This was unexpected so my first reaction is to fall face first into our dry-mud-collecting- wood floors. My ankle throbs now. The kind of throb that makes you feel like touching it to make sure that the place isn't physically pulsing.

I lift my face to see Coach looking down at me with his old face wrinkling in a way that says, "Wow, can you spell loser?"

"Get up, I need to talk to you in that corner Takashi," he points to the corner were I have been sentenced off to. I get up on my knees and walk over like my ankles not irritating me and my face doesn't feel like it's been elbowed.

I sit down while he makes the rest of the class keep running. Then I see him start heading to me. He looks a little menacing.

I suddenly feel my lungs get constricted. An outside force seems to have come and crushed my breathing tubes, 'cause all my breath is caught up in my throat! The gym is starting to feel like its guna snow soon. And my eyes feel like they just got wider. That causes them to water for some reason, there getting dry? My stomach feels like its getting stepped on and all the acid inside is leaking onto my other organs. I'm afraid that my stomach is causing a chain reaction. Now my heart is beating faster, but my rib cage is shrinking and I know its guna poke a whole in my heart if it doesn't stop. My shoulder muscles are starting to thence up too. Shivers are running down my spine and I'm reminded of how cold it's getting. I can't break eye contact with this former elephant trainer.

As I try to force my eyes to blink so I can at least look away, his face is starting to wrinkle in a weird emotion I can't really tell. Is it… concern… no! Its pity, I'm sure. I'm sure I look like I'm about to wet myself. But his wrinkles save the day! I blink and I look away. The fears still storming inside of me, but maybe he didn't understand.

"Takashi? Are you…" he pauses; he doesn't know how to continue by the sound of his waver-y voice. So he goes with a safer approach, "What's going on with you boy? You aren't participating in my class! You don't even dress out! You're failing this class! P.E.! That's not a class you can fail!"

I don't look up at him, and I don't say anything. I'm too fearful that my voice might crack. I'm starting to feel like my suppressed tears are making me want to puke. I just put my hand over my mouth and keep my head low so he can't see my face. I flatten my ears in case he yells more. And I can't even move now, I'm trying hard to stay stiff. I can already feel my bodies want to tremble. But I'm trying my hardest. I won't show what I'm feeling.

His old, so he probably won't bend down to touch me.

"Fine! Go to the office! You don't seem to want to talk to me! Go see the councilor! Maybe you'd like to take to her!" he yells. I nod my head. Mistake, my body starts shaking. But I get up fast and speed walk to the gym exit. He's old, he probably won't notice.

O

Coach told me to go to the councilor's office/ jail. Do not stop at Go and collect 200 dollars. Go strait to jail.

I look down at my hands, there still shaking from earlier. I bet I look pale and that probably emphasizes my raccoon eyes. I wonder if it still looks like I'm perspiring cold sweat?

I decide to stop at GO. Coach probably won't even notice if I don't stay in jail till the bell rings. He didn't even call, I'm sure.

I walk around the halls, it's nice to see the halls empty. It makes you feel like the white of the walls exist when people aren't crowding up against them. You can here the AC going off and on in the stillness of the halls. The carpet looks clean and soft now. In my head, it smells nicer too. Mr. clean or Pin-whatever. It's narcotic. This all just makes me want to sit my head down on the carpet and just sleep.

I think this is a good place to call GO. I guess mental endurance ended poorly today 'cause I broke down. I think I need more meditation with numbers now.

O

Hey, you ever been afraid of sleeping? Feeling like it's more of an impending doom then a regenerating time for your body? Fear of what your mind will make you see?

Ding Ding Ding!! I am!

…

But it's only… the reason I … my dreams… no nightmares. There to real for me. Some people have a weak constitution for scary movies, I have a weak constitution for sleep.

When my m… when dad started to love me differently, I began dreaming.

You know when you rent a horror VHS and someone forgot to re-wind and the climatic moment jumps right out at you? And you accidentally left the volume on high? That's what my nightmares are like. They jump right into the horror part of my life.

With the volume blasting, I can hear myself give out the first scream. My dad panting heavily into my face is bathed in the stench of tequila smelling breath and hot puffs of air. His breath is so strong that it makes my eyes start to burn. He holds my shoulders in his hands, his nails clawing my thin flesh. He takes me. He moans as he enjoys my body. His breath starts to crowed around my face in shorter and faster gasp of heat. His body is sweaty and looming over my quivering form. I bight my lips till I can feel a tiny steady stream dripping of my perpetrating face and till they become numb. I dig my nails into our sticky floor…

And all so he won't get mad. So I won't screech anymore from how much this all hurts me. I just keep bighting my lips and letting my tears mix in with the blood.

This is the part were my muscles go lax and my soul escapes its tortured cage. The rest of the night, I watch as my dad pulls the strings on my puppet body, forcing it to do unspeakable things. I watch… until the blood on my body is crusted and dry… until I can't keep my eyes open… until this dream forces my eyes to open and great reality…

I'm afraid to sleep…

O

Those emotions that melted away, they froze up.

There weighing my stomach down again. I feel like the bottom's going to tear open (again!). But as it keeps getting heavier and expanding, I **need** to throw up. Its physical, its not the kinda of dry hurling that sticks right before your mouth and just stays there and makes you feel like your wearing a turtle neck, actual projectile throw up coming out of my mouth.

I stumble up and my head is in a flurry. I hold my mouth and I can't bring my head up. I'm afraid that **that** would push my stomach to the point were it'll just let everything out. I keep my free hand on the wall so I don't fall to the floor. I move as quickly as my body will inch across the hall.

I got to the bathroom, but to my surprise, an ass-wipe stands in front of the urinals. AKA Koga (_THE_ King of Ass-Wipes) Kenka. Enjoying himself a wiz and a brake from the jocks.

I kinda froze at the site of him. We've never gotten along.

You see, back in the day when problems weren't existent I was a lot more…. Head strong? With a 45 acre ego. Well, we fought over everything! We were like a married couple, but right before the divorce papers are signed. Everything was provoking about him. He didn't like that I was a half breaded demon, or that our dads argued over were ours and their lawn ended, he didn't like how I smelled (and this is back when I showered every day!), I didn't like how he pushed people, he didn't like my criticism.

…

He had a bigger fist then I, so I got beat up a lot. He was the _dick_tator of the playground and I was the rebel leader… till the 2nd grade. Then I stopped resisting his blows, I shrunk ego farm down to nothing, and I stopped trying to help my play mates to much.

After that, I enjoyed the island of solitude by myself. But it wasn't like I had many good friends back then. Just one. But I had to let him go. I knew I couldn't do anything for him. Then everything went into a bleak, dark void with the only good light cast over my form. No one else.

"Shite-wipe!" he brakes my sulking. Joy! Time for me to enjoy some of our fine hospitality from a nice local boy. Kinda wish I was feeling up to it today. But its not like I feel up to it any other day either.

"Ass-wipe! Ya' herd me!?" I still say nothing to his words. Vomits a comin', and it don't stop for no one man.

If people weren't so ignorant, they could see that when a person crouches down over their stomach, leaning against the wall and holding their mouths, it's because the gotta puke. Duh!

He walks over with his giant man feet. But I can only see his dark sneaker against the pale blue tile floor because I'm back to a 100 looking down. Dumbass, he knows on my head with his fist

"Hello? Ya gunna answer me dick head?!" He triggers the upchuck and I throw up on his shoes. They look expensive, ouch. Ha! A round of applause goes off in my head, looks like its gunna stick all day. I think with a tummy so empty I'm stable enough to get up.

"Oopsies," I say, looking up to catch his expression.

…

Five seconds later, I'm on the floor with this feeling that I have a bloody nose, the ever looming vomit want, and a dick on my face. His so artistic…

**TA DA :D**

**R&R pews **


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